


dust of cherry-blossom red

by angeleddie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Canon? What Canon?, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Holding Hands, Is that a tag??, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, hand kissing, how surprising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-16 18:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeleddie/pseuds/angeleddie
Summary: Eddie just stares, a dumbfounded look on his face, his cheeks beginning to burning a pretty shade of cherry-blossom red.”Cute,” Richie mumbles, finding his words, his free hand moving to dust his fingers over the flushed skin of Eddie’s cheek, “Cute, cute, cute!” He then exclaims, scrunching his nose and wiggling childishly.—or a gentle moment shared between reddie. :—)





	dust of cherry-blossom red

**Author's Note:**

> me? writing a love confession fic between these two? who would’ve guessed???!
> 
> sorry if the ending is shitty, i am so tired and going through some stuff so i kinda lost my motivation. 
> 
> also holy shit this is kinda all over the place but i’m on like three different brands of cold medicine so please forgive me 
> 
> anyhow. i’m getting back into writing. :) 
> 
> all mistakes are mine!

Richie throws a small rock, watching the way it skips and bounces across the road, joining the others he’d previously thrown. 

“Thanks.” Eddie speaks up, eyes darting to Richie’s then back to the ground, “For coming with me. I needed some air.” 

“No problem, Eds,” Richie replies, his tone soft, “I get it.” he adds with a small shrug of his shoulders. 

They’d went for a walk, which was suppose to be short, but instead turned into them stopping to eat together, explore a few new buildings in Derry, unwind a bit, resulting in both men being gone for a couple of hours. 

Richie didn’t really mind though, any time spent with Eddie felt.. timeless. Almost like it was a completely different plane of existence. 

Beside him, Eddie’s curled in on himself. Knees drawn a little too high, shoulders too tense. He’s too hunched over, letting out a sigh that sounds heavy, and Richie can practically _hear_ the sadness in it. 

It hangs thick in the air, like smog, making his lungs feel weighed down, like sandbags were there instead of his organs. 

Richie looks over at Eddie, his eyes falling to where Eddie’s currently picking at his fingers. 

_‘a nervous habit’, _Richie thinks_. _

And his hands start to sting with the _want_ to hold Eddie's. To remember the feeling of Eddie’s hand in his, to know that Eddie is actually _here_, not some dream that's suddenly become so detailed, he _wants_ and he _wants_.

That want floats around his brain and seems to stick, making him fidgety. His brain only focusing on the way Eddie’s hands are shaped, and how his nails are neatly trimmed. He wonders what hand sanitizer Eddie uses; _what scent is it? Is it sweet? Eddie likes sweet smelling things, like vanilla candles and flower scented soap_—

Without fully thinking it through, his mind running too many programs as once, all jumbled together, Richie moves and entwines his hand with Eddie’s own, preventing him from picking any further.

“Richie, what the—“ Eddie quickly tries to argue, and Richie looks down to where he’d been picking at the skin around his fingers, red and irritated, and Eddie looks down too, whispering a small ‘_oh_’ at the realization. 

“You’re.. gonna make yourself bleed.” Is all Richie says, pausing between his words, realization hitting him. Yet he still squeezes Eddie’s hand and brings their joined hands a little more outwards between them, he still moves closer to Eddie; shoulders bumping and thighs touching. 

For a moment Richie thinks _maybe_ he’d moved too close, pushed too much, _maybe_ overstepped a boundary that would ruin this whole moment, cause Eddie flinches, slightly recoiling.

And all those doubts he had as a kid, and some new ones, come back to him, just as frantic as before, just as panicked. 

_what if he changed his mind? what if he doesn’t wanna hold my hand anymore? are they not soft? fuck, did i not wash them? what if he hates the way my hand feels? does he not fucking remember?! fuck. fuck. FUCK. _

But, then Eddie begins to uncurl, leaning into the warmth of Richie’s body, his head finding a resting spot atop Richie’s shoulder, and Richie’s mind calms. 

_oh wow_, Richie thinks to himself, watching the way Eddie starts to slowly relax, making Richie’s heart burn with something he tries to ignore, as if not giving it a definition or a word associated with it will make it calm down. It makes his brain jumpstart with the reminder that Eddie is _consensually_ doing this. 

Nobodies _forcing_ Eddie to nuzzle into the warmth of Richie’s body. Nobodies _forcing_ Eddie to keep his hand laced with Richie’s. Nobodies _forcing_ Eddie to lean his weight into Richie’s side and let out a small hum when he settles comfortably. 

Eddie is _doing_ all of those things himself. 

_Fuck_. And there it is. This feeling, this fucking _feeling_. 

Richie wishes, _god how he wishes_, he could push this feeling down, make it dissolve for awhile, make it stop for even a second, prevent him from doing something he’d regret. 

But, Richie realizes that this is the same feeling that makes all the memories of Derry seem _okay_, and that maybe, just _maybe_, this town wasn’t all the terrible simply because _Eddie Kaspbrak_ was there with Richie. 

It’s the same feeling that reminds him that Eddie doesn’t mind bugging Richie, and _maybe_ that’s why Richie likes him so much. Eddie gives him a taste of his own medicine, snarky comments and jokes that make the other roll their eyes and fake gag. 

And that angry, **scared** part of his brain _screams_ for Richie to lie and say that he hates Eddie. Found him annoying or too much of a pussy, that Richie thought he was overdramatic and too sensitive.

But, _maybe_ that’s what Richie likes about Eddie, as well. The opposites of them; the differences between their personalities, how well they mix together, effortlessly conjoining without a hitch, making them the ‘perfect pair.’

Richie stares at their joined hands, already beginning to memorize the way Eddie’s hand feels in his. Fully grown and calloused, long fingers laced with his, looking almost awkward but also perfect because it’s _their_ fingers together. 

_Warm_. That’s all Richie can think as he looks at their hands. _Warmth_. 

“Remember when we used to hold hands, like, all the time?” Eddie asks, chuckling.

”Cause you were always such a wimp, you _made_ me hold your hand all the time.” Richie tries to joke, but it sounds far too soft, too mushy.

Eddie scoffs, nudging Richie’s side with his elbow, “I didn’t _make_ you, dickwad,”

Eddie moves his head to look at Richie, and _immediately_ Richie misses the weight of it on his shoulder, but he does the same, meeting Eddie’s gaze.

And for a moment it’s quiet. Just the two of them scanning each other’s eyes, Richie finds himself lost in the deep pools of brown, some sprout of.. _something _growing in his chest.

Richie’s brain stops, completely pauses in its path, each nerve and thought seeming to disappear into thin air. The only thing that Richie can see, that Richie can _feel_, hear, is _Eddie_. 

“You just—“ Eddie continues, tearing his eyes away to look at the ground again, “You always offered, and I didn’t know _why_, but I could never say no. I didn’t understand why I wanted to hold your stupid-ass hand, it was always sweaty and you probably hadn’t washed them for days–“

Richie chuckles a little. 

“–And it sounds dumb, _I know,”_ Eddie shrugs, finally looking back at Richie, his eyes slightly glossed over, teary, “But I really liked it. I always wanted more, I wanted to always have your hand in mine, always ended up reaching for your hand even if you weren’t there.. it just felt... _right_. Like we’d always done it, or some shit.” 

Richie can’t find any words to say, his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth, too weighed down, restricting what few words he had to say. So instead he brings the back of Eddie’s hand- (that’s still holding his with an almost painful grip)- to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss atop the flat of it. 

Eddie just stares, a dumbfounded look on his face, his cheeks beginning to burning a pretty shade of cherry-blossom red.

”Cute,” Richie mumbles, finding his words, his free hand moving to dust his fingers over the flushed skin of Eddie’s cheek, “Cute, cute, cute!” He then exclaims, scrunching his nose and wiggling childishly. 

Eddie laughs at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling lightly. 

Richie can’t contain the smile that breaks, a smile that would make his cheeks hurt later, large and genuine, happiness filled to the brim. 

And when Eddie stops laughing so hard, they fall into a silence. It’s not uncomfortable or awkward, but it makes Richie start to fidget, knowing Eddie’s speech is most likely gonna lead _somewhere_. 

But, again, Eddie broke through that silence, which Richie didn’t mind, he was almost thankful. 

“I love you, Rich,” Eddie whispers, almost like it’s a secret he didn’t want anyone else to hear, “I think I always have, but forgot. Which fucking sucks, by the way.” he chuckles sadly. 

_Love_. 

Eddie gave a word to this feeling. 

This feeling is _love_. 

Richie thought he’d tense up in a moment like this. That he’d be afraid and run, that he’d flee and shove this memory so far out of his brain he’d eventually forget each detail of it. 

Like the heat of Eddie’s hand, and the warmth of Eddie’s flushed cheeks when his fingertips danced over them, and the sound of Eddie laughing so hard he was practically wheezing cause Richie called him _cute_. 

But he finds himself wanting to remember those, wanting to keep those at the front of his mind, a constant memory to replay over and over like a film he’d never get sick of, examine each small detail until he knows the scene frame by frame. 

He doesn’t _want _toforget. 

Doesn’t wanna forget what being in-love with Eddie feels like. _Not again._

“I— I love you too, Eds,” Richie whispers back, sounding far more calm than he feels, “I _know_ I always have.” 

“Okay, show off.” Eddie nudges him, a grin on his lips. 

And despite the fact that Richie’s most likely shaking like a leaf, he smiles too. 

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks suddenly. 

Richie laughs shakily, “Yeah. Please.” 

So, Eddie does. 

Their lips meet, and Richie tastes sugar on Eddie’s tongue, tastes the sweetness of him. It’s intoxicating, making Richie go back in for more each time Eddie pulls away to catch his breath, lips red and shiny with saliva. 

“Cute,” Richie whispers, only audible in the small space between them, “Cute, cute, cute.” He repeats, going back in to kiss Eddie again. 


End file.
